Just Be
by ladycobert
Summary: Violet and Patrick differ over their children's marriages, resulting in a period of strain on their own marriage that they must get through.
1. You've awakened me

A/N: This fic coincides with chapters 7 and 8 of my Cobert fic _Open Your Eyes_. I've often wondered about Violet and Patrick's relationship, and I give bits of insight into my headcanon in other fics ("Purple" in _Spectrum_ being a main one, but also their appearances in the earlier Cobert fics). Here, I give to you, my first Violet + Patrick (ViPat? We're still working on a ship name) story. It may or may not end up being multi-chapter. (Although my partner in crime – i.e. my reader and tumblr wife – really wants me to continue.)

* * *

February 1889

Patrick Crawley was proud of his son. While he didn't approve of his children disrespecting their mother, he knew that Violet had been unnecessarily harsh on Robert and his wife Cora. Ever since Patrick, Robert, and Rosamund had gone against Violet in getting Robert married to Cora – an American heiress whose dowry and future inheritance saved Downton – Violet could not forgive Cora the sin of being American, Robert the sin of willingly marrying her, nor her own husband the sin of encouraging the match.

When Robert stood in the drawing room that afternoon, he raised his voice to his mother for the first time that Patrick could ever remember and defended Cora in a way he'd never done before. Certainly Patrick had been witness to arguments between Violet and Robert where his son had done his best to show Violet why a certain action of hers was harmful to not only Cora, but to the rest of the family. But this time was different. And Patrick found himself incredibly proud that Robert had stood up to Violet – and not on behalf of himself, but of his wife. With this, Patrick believed that Robert had finally realized that he loved Cora.

It was about time.

Violet stayed longer than Patrick expected as Robert argued that neither the shiner nor the bruised knuckles were Cora's fault. _Likely story_, Patrick thought as he drank his whiskey and watched his daughter-in-law's face turn a charming shade of red and her slight figure fidget upon the chair. Barely looking up when Violet stormed out of the room, he grinned at his son and wondered aloud what sort of story went along with the injuries. But he suspected he knew.

After Robert and Cora had departed with a – most likely specious – excuse that they were tired from their train journey from London, where they'd spent the past several days, Patrick leaned back in his chair with a smile.

"Papa?" Rosamund's eyebrows nearly met her hair, she'd raised them so high. "What do you think happened in London?"

Chuckling, Patrick stood and touched his daughter's cheek gently. "Your guess is as good as mine, my mischievous girl." He smiled down at her – her red hair and robin's egg blue eyes reminding him so much of Violet when she was a mere slip of a girl. "I'll wager you that whatever it was you'll wheedle it out of one of them in no time."

Rosamund smirked. "Oh, Papa, I can't imagine why you would think that."

"Because you are a young lady of wit and persuasion who cannot be denied when she wants something. At least, I could never deny you, dear Rosamund." Bending down to press a kiss to her forehead – something she only allowed her father to do – he left for the library, empty Scotch glass in hand, to finish his correspondence, leaving his daughter smiling in his wake.

* * *

A simple glance at Violet as she came into the drawing room before dinner told Patrick that she was in no mood to speak to anyone. He sighed, but he knew his wife so well by this point, he recognized the futility of attempting to dissuade her from her annoyance. She would come around – in time. Until then, he would ignore her, just as their children did as they appeared and joined him upon the settee.

The three chatted for a while. Patrick asked Robert something about London and got no response. His eyes had been upon his drink, so he looked up at his son, who had a moony expression upon his face, saying in irritation, "Robert? Robert, are you even listening? I was asking you a question."

Patrick felt a bit bad for his exasperation when he followed Robert's gaze to a slightly blushing Cora in a cream-colored evening gown with an emerald green sash. He knew his son couldn't help it. But Robert pulled his attention back to his father anyway, with an apology.

They went on with their conversation for just a short while after Rosamund went to speak to her sister-in-law. Violet continued to silently seethe.

Robert and Cora were the last into the dining room, and Patrick couldn't help thinking that his daughter-in-law appeared particularly radiant as she took her place beside him that evening. He'd always approved of Cora – never mind her American upbringing. She was sweet and intelligent, beautiful and amusing, kind and honest. Patrick couldn't help taking to her the first time she'd set foot in their drawing room at the London house, and he had been happy to learn that his son had proposed to her. It had seemed an ideal situation; Cora had the money they needed, and anyone could see that Cora adored Robert, and that, given time, Robert would in all likelihood return that adoration. He already admitted willingly that he liked and even admired his fiancée.

Patrick knew that committing her life to Robert and Downton were not easy things for Cora. But the young woman had done such a wonderful job – even in the face of considerable obstacles, one of the most formidable being his own wife. Cora fought back in her own quiet, strong-willed way, but Patrick saw that Violet's near daily assaults and what Cora thought was Robert's lack of defense of her had begun to wear her down. Everyone in the household had felt Cora's depression of late, but tonight… no trace of this remained. Whatever had happened between Robert and Cora in London apparently cured her of whatever had been ailing her.

And it was clear, at least to Patrick, that his son had found a new happiness as well.

Quickly realizing that Cora's attention was lost to him, Patrick concentrated upon his dinner and Rosamund, who was on his other side. The main course still sat upon the table when he lifted his attention from his plate to take a sip of wine. But as he picked up his glass, he felt eyes upon him, and his suddenly met Violet's across the table. Her countenance had relaxed a great deal, and the lines that had begun to form around her eyes crinkled as she returned the smile he'd sent her way. She was still so lovely, and as he continued to gaze at her, her cheeks colored an enchanting pink, and he discovered that he couldn't tear his eyes from her.

The woman infuriated him and drove him to distraction with her stubbornness on a regular basis. But that was part of why he loved her so dearly. Their bickering aside – or perhaps front and center – he and his wife simply _worked_. Patrick saw Violet's stubbornness as the extreme of her perseverance, her determination, her diligence, which were all admirable qualities. And all had come in handy time and again through their life together. Another trait that had served them well was her pragmatism. At times her inflexibility overshadowed this characteristic of hers, but usually, where it counted, she served as a voice of reason for some of his more idealistic notions.

And he loved her. He had loved her since they were children.

He'd hated going against her when it came to Robert's marriage. But it was one of those times where her pigheadedness – and snobbish attitude, which Patrick would admit he often shared – had won over her practicality. And it pained him to see his darling Violet be so horrible to Cora, as well as to their son. He nearly always took Cora's side, for which Violet had been very icy toward him.

So, as he saw her begin to thaw, he couldn't help but grin. It'd been so very long since he'd paid her a midnight visit, and he wondered if she might be receptive to one that night. They'd been bickering even more than usual over the past six months or so, and he hadn't liked to assume that she was in any mood to entertain him – even though he was her husband – in her room. But tonight… the way she began to look at him made him hopeful.

After dinner, Violet walked through with Rosamund and Cora, her mood a bit lighter than it had been earlier in the day. However, she didn't necessarily want to speak to either her daughter or daughter-in-law, so, accepting a cup of tea from the footman, she went to the window and looked out into the night. As Cora and Rosamund chattered somewhere behind her, Violet thought of how Patrick gazed at her over the dinner table and felt heat rise in her face. It was just as well she faced away from the young ladies; she wouldn't want them to see her pleased expression.

She cast her mind over the rest of the day and fixed upon a detail of when Cora and Robert had arrived home. It was the exchange between them once Patrick had pointed out Robert's bruised knuckles. _That may have been my fault, _Cora had said. But Robert had answered, _No, Cora. It was not your fault. It was his. And mine, for letting my temper get the better of me. I shouldn't have punched the fellow._

It reminded Violet of another incident, long ago, before either of their children were born. In fact, as she recalled, they were engaged and were at a house party somewhere. A young man had approached her for a stroll around the very secluded garden. When she'd politely refused, having no interest in spending time with anyone other than her fiancé, the young man – who she suspected was inebriated – had leaned rather closer than was comfortable for Violet and asked her again, adding a suggestion that had made her blush an alarming crimson. A smile touched her lips as she remembered how a livid Patrick walked up just as the fellow uttered the words. Without a moment's hesitation, her then fiancé dropped the two glasses of punch he'd been bringing for them and knocked the man winding. His friends arrived seconds later to pick him up off the floor and, graciously, to apologize to Violet for his drunken behavior.

That's when, as Patrick and Violet had decided to escape into the garden themselves, Violet kissed him for the first time. Not that they hadn't kissed before; Patrick had kissed her plenty of times. But it was the first time she'd been the initiator. She'd been so filled with gratitude and love – and affected by the thrill of the spectacle of Patrick hitting someone for her – that she couldn't help herself. As soon as they were hidden from view, she'd pulled his arms around her waist and kissed him soundly. From his wide grin when they finally broke apart, she believed he enjoyed her uncharacteristic spontaneity.

Violet's cheeks retained its faint flush of color when she turned at the sounds of Robert and Patrick entering the room. Putting her teacup into its saucer, she smiled at her husband, happy to see his answering smile.

But it was Robert who approached her. Her expression hardened somewhat, but not to where it had been earlier that day. His sheepish look combined with the black and blue around his eye made it impossible for her to stay completely mad at him.

"Mama?" he ventured tentatively.

Violet sighed, but she met his eyes, waiting.

"I shouldn't have spoken to you the way I did earlier. I was upset, but that is no excuse, and I'm sorry."

Nodding, Violet gave her cup to the passing footman. "Alright, Robert. I understand."

Robert's face took on a slight trace of confusion. It might be the closest she'd ever come to admitting she might have been wrong. He knew not to push for an actual admission, though. "Thank you, Mama." He smiled at her.

The last of Violet's ire for that afternoon's performance melted. She realized that Robert felt the same protectiveness for Cora that Patrick felt for her all those many years ago. Even if it meant that sometimes he would protect and defend Cora against his own mother. She sighed softly but gave her son a small smile.

"I hope you're keeping care of that eye."

Nodding enthusiastically, he grinned. "Cora's making sure I do."

Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, she contented herself to muttering, "I'm sure she is."

"Mama…." Robert's voice had a hint of warning in it.

"What?" She turned an innocent look at her son. She'd noticed the three others with their heads together conspiratorially, and she wondered with what she'd have to contend next. Another argument with Robert would not do on top of whatever they might be discussing.

Robert had a sip of his Scotch. "Please try to be nice, Mama."

"I don't know what you mean, Robert. I am politeness itself." She sniffed in offence.

Keeping himself from barking out a loud "ha!" proved difficult, but Robert managed it. Instead he rolled his eyes and mumbled, "Of course you are."

* * *

Once his valet had left his bedroom, Patrick went over to the door dividing his room from Violet's. But as he extended his arm toward the handle, he heard the sounds of an altercation going on in the next room. Soon he understood why the voices hadn't reached his ears on the other side of the bedroom; as the row went on, his wife's and daughter's voices grew progressively louder, until they nearly screeched at one another.

Patrick had known that Rosamund planned to confront her mother with her acceptance of Marmaduke Painswick's proposal tonight. He had also known that Violet wasn't keen on the idea of Rosamund's marrying him. But he hadn't expected this meeting to be so heated. And, within moments, Patrick would say, their words became clearly discernable to him.

"Mama, you're being so unreasonable!" Rosamund shrieked.

"I am not! And you need to rethink your tone, young lady." Violet's voice was as shrill as her daughter's.

"No, Mama, I won't! Because you don't understand! I'm not meant to do all those things that Robert and Cora will do. So why does it matter to you who I marry? He's rich – isn't that enough for you?"

"Rosamund, it is _not_ enough! You are a lady and you are a Crawley, and I won't have you throwing yourself away on some nouveau riche tradesman of a family of no consequence in our circles, not to be found in Burke's! It's insupportable!"

"I don't care! I love him, and he loves me, and I _will_ marry him, whether you like it or not!" Rosamund, although shouting at this point, also choked upon her words, and Patrick looked down at his feet, knowing that his dear daughter had probably started crying – something she never did.

Then he heard Violet's bedroom door slam. He went to his own bedroom door and peered out in time to see Rosamund's retreating form headed in the direction of Robert's room. Her sobs cut at his heart. He stood there and watched furtively as she knocked on her brother's door. After a few moments, she turned and went off toward the stairs.

For a minute, Patrick paused, torn between going to his daughter and going to Violet. He wondered how upset his wife would be over it all, and he didn't want her to think she was all alone. Closing the door silently, he crossed over to the dividing door, knocking upon it. When there was no answer, he stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. A single candle burned upon the opposite bedside table from where Violet lay curled under her bedclothes.

She, too, was crying.

If not heaving the great sobs Rosamund had, still, he could see in the faint light how the covers shook and hear the soft sounds of her weeping. Sitting upon the floor next to her bed, he reached up and put a hand on her arm, saying gently, "Violet?"

Opening her eyes she sniffled and shook her head a bit.

"Would you like me to go?"

Violet shook her head again and squeezed her eyes shut, more tears sliding down her cheeks.

Just like Rosamund, Violet rarely cried – at least not to where Patrick saw it – and seeing her do so now made him feel as if a stone had dropped in the pit of his stomach. All he wanted to do was comfort her. "Sit up, darling, if you can."

Taking a great breath, Violet slowly sat up. When Patrick climbed up next to her, sliding his arms around her, she rested her head on his chest, still sniffling.

"There, my dear. Now you just cry as much as you need, and I'll be right here." He embraced her more securely, moving one hand up to cradle her face and smooth his thumb over her wet cheek. He rocked her soothingly, relieved when she began to calm down, settling even more comfortably against him.

Violet's tears finally stopped, but she continued to grip the front of Patrick's night shirt and nuzzled her nose into the soft linen. It'd been so long since he'd held her this close that she'd almost forgotten how he smelled: of pipe tobacco and soap and slightly of Scotch. He shifted slightly, and she clutched his shirt tighter, not wanting him to go. Her insides unclenched themselves as she realized that he'd merely moved a leg which was probably falling asleep beneath him. He continued to stroke her cheek as he resumed his gentle rocking.

She was certain Patrick had heard the row. But instead of going to Rosamund, he'd come to her. After so many months of feeling disconnected from her husband, despite how she knew he tried, she began to feel whole again. He'd cared enough to make sure she was alright, knowing that, for all her flintiness, she still had a heart that could be broken and feelings that could be hurt. Perhaps he'd forgotten. But he was here now.

Lifting her head, Violet met his eyes and smiled. She placed her hands on either side of his face to caress it.

While she did this, Patrick studied his wife's face. The last of her tears still sparkled in her eyes, making their pale blueness shine in the soft glow of the one candle. He'd kept his hand upon her cheek, and it struck him anew how her always regal beauty softened and seemed to be magnified whenever she smiled as she did now. He couldn't help smiling at her in return.

Then, gently but insistently, she drew his head toward her and covered his lips with her own. Patrick felt ashamed to realize that it was the first real kiss they'd shared in many months. The shame soon disappeared in what seemed a desperate attempt on his wife's part to get reacquainted. Her hands slid down and pressed into his chest as she deepened the kiss. Patrick pulled her closer, slipping his fingers into her hair just above the start of the loose night braid and tilting her head back farther to trail his lips down her throat. This tender contact sent shivers through her, and she sighed out, "Patrick."

Violet hadn't said his name like that in so long, and it did things to him. Perhaps they needed to talk; he thought they needed to clear the air between them, to understand how they'd gotten to his place where every time they seemed to get closer, something else would happen and they'd end up arguing all over again. Patrick hadn't even realized how far apart they'd actually drifted until Violet was in his arms again and breathing his name.

And when she did that, he couldn't think about the time apart; he could think only of how to reconcile, to comfort his wife – to make her sigh his name a hundred times more.

As he endeavored to do this, Patrick loosened her dressing gown, kissing her and thrilling over how her breathing grew heavier and his own heart raced. He couldn't have told you how her dressing gown ended on the floor or how her hair came loose from its braid, but the fragrance of her lavender lotion mingled with the scent of honeysuckle soap from her red tresses to create a mixture that contrived to intoxicate him more than any alcohol could ever do. But, despite the sense of haziness that accompanied his wife's touch, he felt no impairment. The unimportant particulars – like how his own night shirt came to join her dressing gown on the floor or which one of them had pulled her night dress over her head – fell into a smoky backdrop to the vital details: the remembered shape of her shoulder, her waist, her hip, her breasts as he glided his hands over her body; the feel and taste of her lips, her tongue, her skin; the contrast of her porcelain coloring to his more olive tones; the darkened blue of her eyes and tug of mischief at the corners of her mouth as she pressed him back against the pillows, straddling his waist as she bent down to run her hands and lips over his chest, her hair glowing in sunset hues and burning a magnificent sort of brand into his skin….

For Violet, as she kissed Patrick's chest and listened to the low noises he emitted from his throat, then raised her head again to gaze at him lovingly, the rest of the world fell away. It was as if he'd been gone on a long trip and had finally come home to her. She wove her fingers into his hair at his temples, noticing that, since the last time she'd done it, more silver had appeared within the raven locks. She recognized that she may have had something to do with that and leaned down to capture his lips between hers, an endeavor to kiss away any harm she'd done. Violet gasped into his mouth as he slid his hands down to cup her bottom through her drawers. He broke the kiss only to trace a lazy pattern over her neck, whereupon his name passed through her lips again, and she felt him tighten his hands around her, his fingers pressing into her flesh in a most satisfying way. Keeping one hand threaded through his hair, she snaked the other down to toy with his nipple, prompting him to nip at her shoulder before his mouth traversed down her chest. With Patrick's attentions settled upon her sternum, Violet shivered with delight. The rough of his cheeks brushed the sides of her breasts, and her nipples hardened even more because of this teasing.

"Patrick," she breathed again, still rubbing her fingers over his chest.

"Sweet heaven," he answered.

Violet let out a little shriek and then a giggle when Patrick suddenly seized her by the waist and flipped the pair of them so he was above her, her hair spread about her on the pillows, like a halo of flame. Her giggle died upon her lips as he focused his attention on her breasts, no longer teasing. Caressing one with his hand and the other with his mouth, he flicked his tongue over a nipple, rolling the other between thumb and forefinger.

As she arched her back and began writhing at his concentration upon her breasts, Patrick smiled. In a while, he kissed his way back up to her lips, then looked down into her face, cupping it in his hands. "Violet," he murmured. "I love you."

When she blinked back tears – something he'd not expected – he realized that, even though the pair didn't indulge in verbalizing their feelings very often, even in private, he couldn't remember the last time he'd said he loved her. And he could tell that she couldn't either. He heard her swallow hard. "I love you, Patrick," she whispered, pulling him down and kissing him earnestly.

Patrick ran his hands over her body again, lingering between her legs, brushing his fingers over her through her drawers. Her thighs clamped around his hand, her hips bucking. Violet bit his bottom lip gently, her own hands sneaking down to fondle him as well.

"Patrick," she panted into his ear, "make love to me."

Gasping as her fingers flitted over him in delicious ways, Patrick had to close his eyes to keep his wits about him before he could manage an, "as you wish, darling."

In no time at all drawers had been tossed to the floor. Violet wrapped her legs around his waist as he slowly entered her, and, putting most of his weight upon his elbows on either side of her, Patrick paused for a moment, her soft sigh of pleasure still ringing in his ears, simply to look at her, to trace his fingers over the contours of her face. Her beautiful lips curved up in a smile. She hooked her arms under his, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders.

Sliding his hands down, he wove his fingers through her hair and bent his head down to kiss her as they began to move together. Their bodies knew one another so well after all these years, that, although they'd been apart so long, each knew exactly how to drive the other wild with bliss. So Patrick knew to allow his hands to wander down eventually and beneath her to squeeze her bottom and press her hips up against him, and Violet knew to concentrate her petting upon his chest, occasionally brushing her fingers over his nipples.

When Violet had sighed his name a number of times – not nearly a hundred, but a respectable number all the same – Patrick concentrated on achieving the goal once more before he would be spent. He sighed happily when he felt her writhe and pull him to her with her legs again, crying out her pleasure. As she exhaled his name once more, her breath hot against his cheek and her hands twisted into the hair at the nape of his neck, it was more than he could handle, and he fell still in euphoria and exhaustion.

He could feel her smile upon his temple as he rested his chin upon her shoulder to wait for his pulse to go back to normal. "Do you need me to move?" he asked her gently, his hands rubbing the small of her back. He felt as boneless and contented as a baby, but would move if he was too heavy.

"No, Patrick. Stay right there for a while if you want," she whispered, now pressing her lips to his temple where she'd just been smiling. He felt her arms pull him closer, and he felt more at home in them than he had in many years.

For a while they lay like that, until Patrick discerned slight fidgeting on Violet's part. She hadn't said anything because she didn't want to disturb him, but she'd begun to feel the press of his weight. Carefully, he rolled off her, then sat up against the pillows. "Come here," he said, extending his arms to her, indicating she should sit next to him.

Violet fitted herself into the crook of his arm, twitching the sheet up over them. She lay her head on his shoulder and placed a hand on his neck, running her thumb back and forth over his jaw.

Patrick turned slightly and smiled into her flushed and glistening face. He brushed his fingers through her hair before saying, "No one could ever hold a candle to you, my sweet."

She blushed a little as she had at dinner, then she lowered her eyes, her smile gone. "Then why wait so long to come to me, Patrick?"

He'd known they'd need to talk about things. But her question hurt more than he was willing to admit. He sighed.

When he didn't answer, Violet lifted her face to him again. "It's not something we speak of – you've always just shown up. When you didn't…. Patrick I know you think of me as made of steel, but I've felt so alone. It's not even that we haven't..." She sighed. "I needed to talk to you. We don't discuss what we need to the same way anywhere else."

Patrick turned more fully to face her. "Violet, I'm sorry. Your annoyance with me was so palpable… I didn't think you'd want to see me. All we've seemed to do is disagree of late." He took a deep breath. "I should have asked. I see that now." He hated himself now for staying away. He'd not only caused his wife pain, but he'd punished himself as well.

"You've all been against me. I thought the last person I would have against me was you, Patrick. But we could have at least talked. Not argued, but talked. And this latest development with Rosamund; I don't think I can take it if you stay away again." She drew away from him now, clutching the sheet over her chest.

She didn't often speak of her feelings in quite this manner; Patrick believed that he might be the only one to whom she divulged such things. He realized he was treading on thin ice here. "I won't stay away, Violet." He touched her hand. "But our children – don't you want them to be happy?" His gaze was earnest.

"Of course I want them to be happy, if we can arrange that." She sounded very much her old self, and Patrick attempted to hide his smile, knowing she was completely serious. "But there are other things to consider."

Sighing deeply, Patrick wrung her hand in his, meeting her eyes. "Violet, darling, you're right that there are other things to consider. And with Robert, we had to consider what was best for the estate. The fact that his obvious admiration of Cora coincided with her fortune was a stroke of luck all around. Didn't you see them tonight? He's smitten."

"No, he's not smitten, Patrick." He opened his mouth to protest, but she shook her head. "I mean, he's not simply smitten; he's in love. He might not have been before, but he is now. The look on his face…. It reminded me of how you sometimes look at me." Her expression softened.

"Then, can't you accept Cora finally?" Patrick's look pleaded.

"Patrick, it's not so simple. I'm happy the estate is safe and that Robert can be happy. But – how is an American to fill my role?"

He pressed her hand. "She has you to guide her."

Violet couldn't suppress her "humph." Seeing her husband's disappointed face, she sighed. "I'm sorry, Patrick; I cannot help it. She's not English." He didn't speak, but simply looked down at her hand in his. "I'll try, Patrick. But I cannot promise anything."

Leaning forward, Patrick pressed a kiss to her lips and grinned. "She's an intelligent young lady; if you gave her a chance you'd realize that, Violet. I think it's one thing that drew Robert to her." Kissing her hand now, he said, "How can he be expected to want a silly wife – even an English one – when he has such a clever mother?"

Violet's eyes flickered with mirth, but she kept to the discussion at hand. "And Rosamund? What's to be done about her? She can't marry this Painswick man."

"I don't want to stand against you again, Violet, but can't you see how she lights up when she speaks of him?" He lowered his voice. "Can you imagine what it would have been like if I hadn't stood up to my father so I could marry you?"

"Yes." Violet took her hand away. "I suppose it would be very like the past six months have been for me."

Patrick bowed his head. "I'm so sorry, darling. I am. I didn't realize…." He heaved a great sigh. "I don't know what else to say. We can't get those months back, but we don't have to continue that way." He glanced at her, then waited for her to meet his eyes again. "I've never meant it to be that way between us. That having been said – would you want a whole life of that for your daughter?"

"No. But, Patrick, there will be a new season –"

He interrupted her. "Yes, a new season. Another one. How many must she endure? Most of the men are unlike our Robert and _want_ silly wives they can manipulate. Rosamund isn't silly. She's shrewd and witty and she knows what she wants. Much like her mother." Patrick lifted a tentative hand to touch her cheek. "Please, don't punish Rosamund. Things are changing, Violet, and it's much more acceptable to have a new money husband – or an American wife – than it used to be. As much as you balk against it. We can't force our children into arranged marriages, not little more than a decade before a new century. Please, darling, just think about it."

Violet whispered, "This is why I've needed you, Patrick. You temper me."

Patrick gazed at her, grazing his thumb over her cheekbone tenderly. He knew why he'd gone to Violet instead of Rosamund. It was because he thought he recognized what might be her breaking point. Violet exuded strength, determination, but Patrick knew – better than anyone else – that she wasn't made of iron, and that her façade would crack eventually. It was why he'd defended Violet – half jokingly – to Robert earlier that evening when they'd spoken over brandy and cigars. No one knew Violet like he did. And he felt even more horrible for staying away from her for so long. "Oh, my dearest Violet. I'm so sorry." He drew closer to her. "I wish you'd told me."

"I didn't think I would have to." She nuzzled her head into his neck with a sigh.

"It seems we've both been stubborn old fools." Patrick wrapped his arms around her.

Her chuckle surprised him. "I don't know who you're calling 'old,' Patrick."

"No, darling. We're not old. Not at all. But I think the rest applies."

Slipping her arms around his middle, she shook her head. "No, I'm never stubborn – nor a fool."

"Of course not, Violet. Never." He kept his tone light, indulgent, although he really meant to be sarcastic. It wouldn't do to set her off again. He enjoyed having his arms around her too much.

And, in time, his hands had twisted themselves into her hair again, his lips caressing her face, then traveling down her neck.

"Patrick?" she inquired in a whisper. "Aren't you tired?"

He lifted his head and held her eyes with his. "No," he stated plainly, shaking his head. "You've awakened me, darling. I've been asleep for too long."

Violet smiled. "I've missed you."

"I missed you too, Violet," Patrick said. Pulling her more securely within his embrace, he hummed against her skin, "There's so much time to make up for."

Crushing his lips to hers, Patrick decided that he might try for a hundred times anyway – even if it took him all night, all week, all month to get there. Violet needed him, and he needed her, in all the ways that husband and wife were meant to be together. He knew the day might arrive when they became too old or tired or both to have this need any longer. But today was not the day.

And so Patrick did his utmost to make Violet sigh his name again and again.


	2. Trust me

Robert and Rosamund had just begun to wonder if their father might be ill when Patrick strolled into the room, whistling happily. Rosamund turned in her chair to watch him enter, and Robert put his tea cup down on the breakfast table.

"Good morning, Rosamund," he said, dropping a kiss on her head. "Good morning, Robert." He clapped his son on the back before going over to the buffet to fill his plate, resuming his cheerful whistling.

Rosamund – who looked a bit worse for wear, her eyes puffy and red – and Robert – who had reason to be whistling himself – exchanged a baffled glance. Their father generally beat the pair of them down to breakfast, and here they were almost done. Patrick sat down with his plate and picked up his newspaper as usual, sublimely unaware that his children were staring.

"Papa?" Rosamund put her fork down. "Are you alright? You're very late this morning."

Without moving his paper, he shrugged behind it and grunted out, "Overslept, my dear."

She raised her eyebrows at Robert who shrugged his shoulders in kind.

Lowering the paper enough to look at his daughter over the top, Patrick smiled. "Rosamund, I think you will like what your mother has to say to you today."

Blinking in disbelief, she inquired, "Didn't you hear our quarrel, Papa?"

He nodded. "I did. Nevertheless…." He disappeared behind the paper once more.

Clearly perplexed by her papa's enigmatic tone, Rosamund lay her serviette by her plate and waited for the footman to pull her chair out for her. "Cora and I have plans to go into Ripon today, so I'll see the two of you later."

Robert furrowed his brow as he watched Rosamund go through an elaborate series of gesticulations. Apparently he would have to go after her to find out what she was trying to convey. "Excuse me, Papa. I'll be back presently."

A grunt came from behind the newspaper, and Robert got up and followed Rosamund into the hallway.

"What was that all about?" he whispered gruffly once they'd gotten a little way down the hall.

"That's what I was going to ask you!" she exclaimed, missing his meaning. "What did Papa mean about Mama saying something I'll like? She was completely adamant last night; dead set against Marmaduke. How can I like anything she would say to me?"

Robert sighed and shook his head. "I don't know, Rosamund. I know as much as you do. The only thing I can think is after you went downstairs, Papa spoke to Mama."

"I wish I knew what she was going to say." She looked at him very seriously. "Not that I was at all jesting in my threat to elope. I'll do it, Robert, and you know I will."

"Yes, I know, Rosamund. But I hope that you won't have to. Now, go on. Cora might be waiting for you." He grinned at her and touched her arm before going back into the breakfast room.

"Papa?" Robert queried as he sat again in front of his nearly empty plate. He waved the footman over to fill his tea cup.

"Mmmm?" Patrick continued to peruse the newspaper.

Robert took a fortifying sip of his tea. "Did something happen last night? I mean…" he lowered his voice before going on "…I found Rosamund in the library, crying and drinking a glass of Scotch."

Patrick finally put his newspaper aside and took a large bite of his breakfast, chewing methodically while he thought. "I presume she told you about her row with your mother?" At Robert's nod, he said, "Well, your mother and I talked for a long time after Rosamund left, and I think perhaps she's willing to bend on a few things." He chuckled, having another piece of bacon, then grew more serious. "We have to be more understanding of her, Robert. I know she's difficult, but she does want what's best for you – even if sometimes she doesn't really realize what that is." He fixed his eyes on his son's. "But I don't think you'll need to punch her." He winked.

Chuckling at this reference to their conversation the night before, Robert said, "Papa, I genuinely don't enjoy disagreeing with Mama. Generally, the two of us agree on most things. But she's been so stubborn lately…." He trailed off. His father knew all of this already.

"Robert, give her another chance. All of this is more difficult for her than we acknowledge. And how she's behaved is the outward manifestation of her struggle. I don't think she wants to hate Cora. She simply doesn't know how else to act." Patrick looked down at his now cold eggs.

"I know, Papa." Robert smiled when his father lifted his head again. "Now, I should go visit the Mason farm, and we'll reconvene to discuss what I've missed whilst in London."

At his father's nod, Robert left the room. Patrick stared at his cold food and sighed. He hoped that their conversation of the night before had left an impression upon Violet. He didn't like having his children against either one of them.

* * *

Violet woke with a smile upon her lips and an aching between her legs. But this made her chuckle. It _had_ been a long time. She knew a steaming bath and a brisk walk would put her to rights again.

She ate her breakfast with great appetite and then luxuriated in the hot water. While her maid helped her dress, Violet noticed Kendrick pausing at intervals to stare at her.

"Is something wrong, Kendrick?" She drew her brows together, perplexed.

Her maid shook herself slightly. "No, my lady. It's just –" she glanced up from the fastenings on the back of the walking dress to meet her mistress' eyes in the mirror – "you're humming, Lady Grantham." Kendrick turned her focus onto the tiny buttons again.

A trace of color touched Violet's cheeks. "Yes, well, I'm in a pleasant mood."

Kendrick made no comment while she waited for Violet to sit at her dressing table so she could fix her hair.

As Kendrick worked, Violet closed her eyes, going over again the events of the previous night. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, until she recalled her promise to her husband: that she would try to understand about Rosamund's acceptance of that Painswick man's proposal, and that she would also endeavor to be nicer to Cora. Sighing, she looked at herself in the mirror. She wasn't sure if she could do either – at least not to the extent her husband thought her capable.

Violet recognized that her husband always put more faith in her than she deserved. She hardly ever measured up to his ideal of her. However, her gratitude stemmed from the fact that even when she fell short, as she almost always did, his disappointment in her was usually brief. Well, apart from her behavior concerning Robert and Cora, that is. Despite this rough spot, she knew he loved her for who she was – irascibility and all.

Therefore, she took another deep breath and steeled herself to do her best in regards to Cora and Rosamund. It wouldn't be easy. She knew herself well enough to know that she would most likely fail most of the time. But she would make the effort anyway.

She took her solitary walk in the garden, planning what she would do to attempt to make peace between herself and her daughter, between herself and Cora. At luncheon, she put her plan into action.

Violet held Patrick's eyes for a moment, his smile steadying her resolve.

Of course, she didn't realize that Cora and Robert had exchanged similar smiles in the moment before. Cora cleared her throat, "Lady Grantham, I –"

Patrick's nod to Violet would have been imperceptible to anyone else. Interrupting her daughter-in-law, she said, "Cora, it's ridiculous to call me that any longer. You should call me 'Violet.'" She smiled a little.

But Cora's eyes went wide, and she moved her gaze from Violet's face to Robert's startled one and back again, fighting the impulse to blurt out a disbelieving "what?" Instead, she took a moment to regain her composure and, tentatively, ventured, "Violet," and when her mother-in-law merely kept smiling at her, she flicked her eyes to Robert before continuing, "Robert and I thought that we might plan a fancy dress ball for the end of the month here at Downton. That is, if you and Papa wouldn't mind that."

Patrick answered first. "I think that's a fine idea. Violet?"

Thinking a moment, Violet furrowed her brow. "Well, I think it would be nice; it would give you a chance to gain experience in organizing such an event – with my help, of course. But is two weeks long enough to put together a fancy dress ball?"

Cora's cheeks flushed as she smiled widely. She'd expected to be categorically denied the chance to throw a party, and this acceptance of her proposal tickled her. Robert's face shone to see the excitement in hers. "Perhaps you're right…" she paused, then went on "…Violet." Once convinced that this wasn't a trick and Violet wasn't going to turn around and snap at her, Cora relaxed even more. "We will need to give the guests plenty of time to procure costumes."

"Yes, a month will be a decent amount of time, Cora." Violet spooned soup into her mouth before turning to Rosamund. "You'll have to invite this Mr. Painswick, Rosamund. So he can get to know us better."

Rosamund had been nearly as stunned as Robert and Cora at the preceding conversation. But she rallied. "You mean so you can frighten him off, don't you? It won't work, Mama. Marmaduke is devoted to me."

Violet swallowed the tart response that leapt onto the tip of her tongue. She glanced at Patrick instead, getting another nod from him. "Well, then we'll get to see it firsthand among so many guests. But I do hope you'll invite him to dinner sooner than that. If you're going to marry him, we should meet him properly – not at a fancy dress ball."

Now Rosamund's mouth hung open in a most unladylike manner. She stared at her mother, then turned and stared at her father, who was grinning at her and nodding.

Cora and Robert now gaped at Violet as well, following along with the conversation and glancing at one another incredulously, knowing that Rosamund and Violet had fought over this the night before.

"Close your mouth, Rosamund," Violet snapped as she wiped her lips delicately with her serviette.

"Mama, you can't be serious," Rosamund replied.

Violet frowned. "Of course I am. It's very undignified."

Rosamund waved a hand in frustration. "No, not that, Mama. What you said about Marmaduke and my marrying him. You were so against it last night!"

Shrugging slightly, Violet then smiled at the footman who took her soup bowl. "Can't a woman change her mind?"

"_A woman_ can; _you_ cannot. Or at least, you _do_ not."

Violet harrumphed. "I most certainly do, if the occasion calls for it. Now, please stop being so contrary, or I will change it again." Her eyes flashed at her daughter.

Rosamund clamped her mouth shut. She opened it again during luncheon only to feed herself.

"Now, Cora, whom did you have in mind to invite to this ball…?"

As Robert, Cora, and Violet discussed details and Rosamund sat staring at her food, Patrick beamed at his wife. His chest swelled with pride at how she'd fulfilled her promise. _This_ was his beloved Violet at her best.

* * *

Patrick slipped quietly into his wife's room, immediately meeting her eyes with a wide grin. Violet sat up in bed, grinning back at him; she'd been waiting.

In fact, she'd been watching the clock and wishing the evening away since dinner. And Patrick couldn't get away from the children quickly enough once she'd announced her fatigue and departed the drawing room, throwing a look with the barest hint of the coquette over her shoulder at him.

All evening Violet had sent subtle, wordless messages his way, slowly undoing him all through dinner and family conversation, causing his children and daughter-in-law to think him more absentminded than usual. He let them think that. It covered for the fact that he couldn't stop imagining the night before – or glancing at his gorgeous wife. She'd taken particular pains over her dress, selecting a gown in a rich shade of plum, Patrick's favorite color on her. She'd even worn the necklace that he'd given her for their first anniversary.

Violet had mastered the art of saying everything she needed to him with her eyes, conveying remarkably improper thoughts with a raise of her eyebrow or the tilt of her head. It was a language only Patrick understood, and to anyone else in the room would be seen as nothing momentous. Even apart from this, however, she smiled far more than usual. Patrick could only attempt to contain his mirth and anticipation. He did so poorly, but Rosamund and Robert appeared not to notice; the change in their mother's ordinarily bland countenance caused them much more fascination. However, they said nothing. They probably didn't want to rock the boat, which seemed to have found calm waters at last.

For them, at least. For Patrick, the minute that they would meet again in her bedroom could not arrive swiftly enough.

And now it had arrived; he stood next to her bed, gazing down at her in the light of the one candle she left burning at night. Patrick whispered, "You looked beautiful tonight, darling. And you look even more beautiful right now."

Her cheeks took on a bright pink, and she extended a hand to him, her eyes locked onto his. "I could hardly wait for this moment, Patrick," she said softly as he took her hand and sat on the edge of the bed, facing her.

"I could tell," he chuckled. "Don't worry," he reassured her, leaning close to her and breathing his words into her ear. "I don't think the children knew. I'll wager they were more curious about your smiles than your other surreptitious signals." Patrick nipped her behind the ear before pulling back just enough to brush his lips over hers. At her gentle sigh, he kissed her more intensely, their tongues engaging in an elaborate dance after only a moment or two.

Patrick pressed Violet back upon the bed, his hands grazing over her body through the delicate fabric of her night dress. Without warning, his mind flickered to a conversation he'd had with Isidore the evening before their children's marriage. They'd been toasting their families, the bride and groom, and each other liberally, and at some point their talk had gotten far more personal than Patrick was – normally – comfortable with. They'd begun discussing wedding nights, and, one thing leading to another, Patrick found himself the baffled, and yet intrigued, recipient of a number of tips on how to further please his wife in the bedroom. As he listened to the American whose daughter was to marry his son the next day, Patrick nearly blushed. When asked where he'd acquired this knowledge, Isidore shrugged dismissively.

"I've done a lot of traveling for my business, and I've picked up certain books – texts – on the subject. They're extremely useful." Isidore chuckled and took another long swig of whiskey before puffing again on his cigar, his mustache twitching with mirth. "At least, Martha rarely has anything negative to say on the subject." The man winked at this, whereupon Patrick almost choked on his Scotch.

"Goodness," he'd strangled out, unsure what else to say at this point.

But now, as he drew the hem of Violet's night dress up her legs and over her hips, he wondered if he might be so bold as to implement some of Isidore's suggestions. In fact, it rather excited him to think of it.

However, he wondered how Violet would react. So, endeavoring not to alarm her, he began as he often did, running his hands gently over her legs as he kissed her. Night shirt fell atop night dress upon the floor, and Patrick oh-so-deliberately trailed his lips down her neck and over her breasts, concentrating his attentions there for a while as he slid her drawers along her limbs and off, flicking this onto the pile of garments.

Instead removing his own drawers, however, he continued to venerate the creamy skin of her abdomen with his mouth, his hands caressing first the outsides then moving to the insides of her thighs. Patrick relished every sigh and gasp and incoherent whisper Violet uttered as he neared his goal.

But as his lips, tongue, and hands had almost met at her center, Violet began to squirm – and not in bliss. She struggled to sit up, bleating out, "Patrick, what –!"

Looking up into her eyes, and the shock in them, Patrick kept stroking his fingers lightly along her inner thighs. "Violet darling," he intoned softly. "Just lie back and relax. Trust me."

"But, Patrick, you can't – you shouldn't –"

"Shhhh…" He reached up one hand to her cheek. "It's alright, darling. I promise."

Seeing the glint – and comfort – in his eyes, Violet took a deep breath and lay back on the pillows. But she couldn't be entirely comfortable. She closed her eyes as she felt Patrick's kisses upon her inner thighs, and his hands travel closer to their juncture. Violet couldn't deny the delicious chills his touch elicited from her.

Patrick's mouth and tongue and hands converged upon her, and his touch drew a prolonged moan from her throat. The screams of her rational mind that what they were doing was so very beyond improper soon became buried beneath wave after wave of tactile bliss he created. Violet tilted her head back, shutting her eyes and clutching at the bedclothes. She gasped and squeaked and couldn't quite believe how incredible something so… so _wrong_ could feel.

Fortunately, just as Patrick thought his fingers might cramp – and he felt dizzy with his own growing need – he heard and felt the tell-tale signs of her release and stroked her ever more gently while she stretched and made a sound as near to a purr that he could remember as she panted heavily. He grinned and allowed her time to catch her breath, kissing all along her legs and then farther up her body as he twitched off his drawers and tossed them onto the floor.

Grazing his fingers along her sides, reveling in the low laughter that hit his ears, presumably because this particular touch tickled her, Patrick lingered over her breasts, taking one of the peaks between his lips. Violet rewarded him with a trilling noise and placed her hands on either side of his head, gently pulling him up to kiss him earnestly.

In no time, she breathed between kisses, "Patrick… please…."

He'd thought he would have to be the one to beg, so he willingly obliged as she wriggled beneath him. Lifting up her hips while he maintained their heated kisses, Patrick began thrusting into her, moving his hands down to knead her behind. Violet's arms wound around him, and her hands ran up and down his back. She dug her fingertips into the still well-formed muscles, moving her hips to the rhythm he set.

Patrick kept casting his mind back to before, to the way Violet reacted to his attentions and imagined several other scenarios he would like to bring to pass that Isidore had described in – quite explicit – detail. This, combined with how Violet completely filled his senses now, contrived to incite him to lose control completely, but he endeavored to keep himself in check. He still wished to make up for those lost months.

Once they'd both achieved their climaxes, they lay there for a while before Patrick scooted over and turned upon his side beside Violet, coaxing her onto her side as well, her back to his front. For a long time, Patrick simply held her against him, smiling and brushing his fingers lightly over her arm. The calming tempo of her breathing and the soft tangle of her hair against his face brought him to a state of utter tranquility.

That is, before Violet eventually grew rigid in his arms before extracting herself and removing herself to the other side of the bed, pulling the sheet up over chest.

"Violet?" Patrick sat up, studying her face in the dim light. Her expression was unreadable.

"You've never done that before," she said, her tones measured. She stared at him, waiting.

"No, I haven't. But you seemed to enjoy it." He thought he might chuckle, but the way her face flushed stopped him.

Violet struggled to keep her voice quiet, although she wanted to shout. "Who is she?"

Patrick blinked several times, trying desperately to understand what she meant. "I – what?"

"You had to have learned it from somewhere." Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

He gaped at her, disbelieving what he heard. Violet struck him speechless, and he could only open and close his mouth in wordless incredulity.

"No, I don't want to know who she is." She put a hand out in a curt wave. "I never told you that you shouldn't have dalliances, and I might have known that during all these months…." Violet shook her head, fixing him with a look that was both angry and hurt. "But I thought I knew you, Patrick."

As angry and hurt as Violet might be, Patrick felt it a hundred fold. Climbing out of bed, he gathered up his things before facing her, his face stony. "I thought you knew me too, Violet. I'll be in my bedroom. If you remember who I am – and how I am – you can come knock on my door. But until then, I would rather you stay away."

Patrick stomped to his door, clothes in hand, and shut it behind him soundly.

Violet got up and exhaled hard, her nostrils flaring with irritation. She went over to where her drawers and night dress lay upon the floor and put them on. Then she sat on the bed, going over their activities and conversation in her head. What else was she supposed to think? In all their years of marriage – over two decades – he'd never even indicated that he _knew_ any sort of technique as that. And then, all of a sudden, he did?

She paced back and forth along the length of the room, as was her wont when she was angry or frustrated and needed to think. Patrick had his Scotch and his pipe – Violet paced. But after a while, she sat on her chaise and put her head in her hands. Patrick loved her, she was sure. However, she knew that sometimes even people who loved you could hurt you – and probably worse than anyone else. Patrick, though….

Drawing a deep breath, Violet recalled the last six months, going over them with a fine-toothed comb. She blushed to remember how at various times she'd heard – although she knew she wasn't supposed to have – her husband through the dividing door, breathing heavily and, although his voice was muffled, unmistakably crying out her name. He'd said many times that he only ever wanted her, and she had no reason to doubt him.

No reason apart from this latest development. But what other explanation could there be?

Perhaps his imagination had led him there. Again, though, why not sooner? Violet's mind spun. She couldn't think properly, and the memory of how his tongue and lips felt against her perpetually interrupted her contemplations.

There was only one thing for it. She would have to swallow her pride and ask him – as difficult as that was to do. And accept his explanation. Patrick would never lie to her. Of that, she was certain.

Taking another deep breath, she walked over and knocked upon his door.

For a moment she heard nothing. "Patrick?" she called softly.

He appeared at the door in his drawers, a defeated expression upon his countenance. "Yes?"

Violet cast her eyes on the floor. "I – I'm sorry. I shouldn't have jumped to a conclusion. We've always been honest with one another, even…" she stumbled over her words, apologies never coming easy for her, "…even when we can't seem to speak of what we need to most." She lowered her voice, wringing her hands. "I do know you, Patrick, but I'm still confused."

Patrick's eyes softened as he beheld the contrition and fear on her face. She rarely admitted to being wrong, and he knew better than to treat it as a small thing. "Darling, come here." He held his hands out to her.

She took them, meeting his eyes. Patrick guided her over to a pair of chairs and sat down beside her.

"Violet, let me tell you something that you might not want to know." He waited until her eyes fastened upon him. "Isidore Levinson told me about that. And, well, a few other things – the night before Robert and Cora wed. We'd had a few too many drinks, I think, and it made him chattier than usual." He looked at her sheepishly, but she said nothing. So he continued, "I wanted to try one of them, because it had been so long, and I wanted to make you feel nice."

Patrick watched Violet's face transfigure into one of shock. She pulled her hands away. "I'm not sure that's not worse! You spoke to – to _that man_ about _us_?"

"It wasn't like that, Violet. He did most of the talking, and in very general terms." Patrick sighed, digging his elbows into his knees and resting his head in his hands. "I honestly didn't expect it to land me into trouble. We were drunk, and you were so cross with me, and I missed you so much," he muttered.

Violet observed him for a few moments when he didn't speak again. She knew he hadn't done anything wrong, and she felt ridiculous for letting something like this come between them when they'd been apart too many months already. Lifting her hand, she put it on his wrist. "Patrick?"

The note of tenderness in her voice encouraged him to uncover his face and look at her.

She smiled and trailed her fingers up from his wrist to his hand, taking it in hers and pressing it tightly. "May we start the evening over?" Her eyes gleamed with mischief. "Well, if you're not too tired, that is."

A slow grin spread over Patrick's face. He hadn't expected another apology or admission of fault; that was not his Violet. Once tonight surprised him enough. But this suggestion of hers was tantamount to her forgiveness for what she saw as a highly scandalous conversation between Isidore and him. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, then stood and pulled her up with him, wrapping his arms around her waist. "How can I resist such an invitation?"

The twinkle in her blue eyes intrigued him. She chuckled. "I'm certain you would find a way if you couldn't manage a repeat performance."

"Well, that's true enough." He leaned over to whisper in her ear, "I wouldn't want to disappoint."

Violet placed her hands on either side of his face, fixing a coy look upon him. "You said he told you some other things as well?"

Patrick nodded, grinning from ear to ear.

"Might we give another one of them a go? To start?" Violet slid one hand down his neck and over his shoulder, taking another step closer to him.

The grin melted, his eyes closing and a low groan escaping his lips as she pressed herself against him. "I – I think we could do that, darling."

"Good," she said briskly, backing away and clasping his hand.

As Violet led him into her bedroom once more, Patrick watched the sway of her hips through her night dress and grinned, sending silent thanks to Isidore Levinson across the ocean.


	3. I needed you

Violet made her way upstairs after luncheon, her mind upon the fancy dress ball that they were planning. She, Cora, and, to a certain extent, Robert had discussed a few details toward the end of the meal – until Cora asked to be excused, pleading a headache. Not long after she'd made her exit from the dining room, Robert followed her up, ostensibly to check on her. But Violet wondered; he couldn't seem to hide his expression from her.

However, as Patrick had grinned across the table just then (eliciting an exasperated puff of breath from their daughter), Violet didn't say a word to her son. Instead, she smiled and attempted to think of something other than the second go round from the night before.

In this she was unsuccessful.

An odd noise stopped her as she sauntered past Cora's room on the way to her own. Curious, she paused, her brow furrowed and head tilted to listen. Very soon, it became clear to her that either her daughter-in-law recovered from her headache remarkably quickly, or that she had never had a headache in the first place. Her hand covered her throat in shock. She had half a mind to knock upon the door, but hearing the lower, gruffer noises from behind the door brought a deep flush to her face and her hand from her throat to her mouth.

"Violet? I thought you'd be in your room by now." Patrick strolled up to her, touching her arm. Observing her blush and how her eyes were fixed upon Cora's door, he asked, "What's the matter?"

"Patrick," she whispered from behind her hand, "listen." Her eyes grew wider as the noises rose in volume.

The nature of the sounds he heard were enough to make Patrick laugh. But he didn't. He knew Violet was most likely scandalized to know that her son and daughter-in-law had retired to Cora's bedroom in the middle of the day, to engage in _that_ particular activity. "Violet," he said softly, tugging gently upon her arm. "Come away, darling. Kendrick is waiting."

"But… Patrick!" However, she allowed him to pull her away. "They're – they – in the afternoon – and they –" She appeared to be having trouble putting together a coherent sentence.

"I know just the thing for us, my dear." Once they reached his wife's room, he addressed her maid, who stood waiting to dress her mistress. "Kendrick, Lady Grantham will need her riding habit. It's easily accessible?" At Kendrick's nod, he smiled, turning to Violet. "I'm taking you out on the grounds this afternoon. I'll meet you in the foyer in just a while." Pressing a kiss to her cheek, he turned around and went to ring his valet for his own riding attire.

Once dressed, Patrick descended the stairs to give the butler instructions to have the groom bring their horses around the front of the house for their ride. While he waited, his hands clasped behind him, holding his hat, he shook his head happily, a smile wreathing his lips. He couldn't have been more pleased at how things had turned out for his son.

Hearing the sounds of Violet's boots upon the hall floor, Patrick turned to greet her. All thoughts of his son or his wife fled his mind as she stood and smiled at him. She had the skirt of her habit hooked over one wrist, and she smoothed her hands over the dark jade fabric at the waist of the form-fitting bodice.

"Do you like it? I don't know if you remember that the last time we rode –"

Patrick interrupted with a grin. "I do remember. Your skirt caught upon a shrub, and it tore." He took her hand and kissed it, unmindful of the footman standing there, struck by how the color of the dress seemed to make her alabaster skin glow. "That must have been last summer. Can it be that long since we rode together?"

"I think it has," she intoned softly, a hint of sadness to her voice. He took her by the arm and guided her out of the house to where the horses awaited them.

"Well. We shall set that to rights too." He smiled at her warmly, dismissing the groom with a gesture.

Patrick pulled his eyes away from her so he could check her saddle himself. As excellent as their grooms were, he always went over the fastenings once more before she mounted. He never forgot how her saddle had slipped while they'd been out riding one day when they were newly married. Fortunately, they'd just started out, so the horse hadn't broken into a full trot yet, but when she fell to the ground, he thought the worst. However, barring a few bruises, Violet had been fine. Patrick suspected he had been more shaken by the incident than she, since less than a week later she'd wanted to go riding again.

Of course, her dauntlessness and tenacity had always attracted him to her. But it didn't stop him from taking the precaution of checking her saddle for himself.

Once he had done this to his satisfaction, Patrick took Violet's hand and, with the help of the mounting block, assisted her into the saddle. His fingers lingered upon the back of her calf as she rearranged her skirt more modestly over her legs. "Patrick, stop that," she hissed, a blush touching her cheeks.

Grinning up at her, he fondled her leg through her stocking, just above the top of her boot, for several more seconds before saying, "I do like the new habit. The color suits you very well, my dear." Withdrawing his hand from beneath her skirt, he handed her riding crop to her. "Are you secure, darling? Comfortable?"

Violet laughed. "As comfortable as one can be in a side saddle, Patrick," she replied. "Now mount before I leave you behind." Her eyes glinted, but her tone was serious.

Making quick work of climbing into his saddle and taking the reins after untying his horse, Patrick followed Violet down the drive. They kept their horses at a walk for the moment, not wanting to scatter gravel everywhere.

As the horses' hooves crunched along the drive, Violet heaved a sigh. "Patrick, we must do something about our son's behavior."

Patrick cocked his head at her. "His behavior?"

"Yes. We can do very little about Cora, as she's American and was raised by _that woman_." Violet rolled her eyes. "But we can stop her from being a bad influence on Robert."

"What have they done that's so horrible, Violet?" Patrick already knew what she would answer, but he asked the question anyway.

Raising her eyebrows, Violet's voice raised as well. "How can they be so scandalous, Patrick? It's the middle of the day!"

"Violet, really. It's not as if they're in the middle of the library." She shot him a look of horror. "They're young and in love." Patrick glanced down at his hands. "Had I thought you wouldn't be utterly against it, I might have visited you in the middle of the day when we were younger myself."

"Patrick! The very thought!" Her husband cut his eyes at her and smirked. Violet couldn't tell if he was being facetious to make a point, or if he actually had such notions. The man had proved full of surprises lately. "I can't believe you would condone such shenanigans! They're the Viscount and Viscountess Downton, and they have standards to uphold!"

The smirk leaving his face, Patrick sighed. He understood what she meant. Nevertheless, he couldn't help sympathizing with his son and daughter-in-law. "They're adults, Violet, and no one knows his duty to Downton and his station like Robert. So I would suggest that you leave them alone. It is none of our business what they do in the privacy of their own bedroom – or when."

"It most certainly is our business!" Violet became irritated and a flush spread over her cheeks. They'd steered their horses off the drive and were heading toward the open pastures of the estate. She tightened her grip on the reins in vexation.

Patrick frowned at her. "No. It isn't. The only part that is our business is whether they produce an heir or not. At least you can rest assured that they're doing their part to make that happen." As his wife narrowed her eyes at him, he continued. "And that is the end of it. I will _not_ speak to my son about restricting this particular activity to the night time hours. And I won't have you speaking of it either." There was no anger in his voice, but the firmness of it made clear that he wouldn't countenance any breach of this demand.

Violet's eyes flashed. "Really, Patrick, you infuriate me. You all infuriate me." With a flick of her wrist, she urged her horse into a trot, leaving her husband staring after her until he too followed suit.

Keeping slightly behind her, Patrick furrowed his brow. He had hoped that riding would take Violet's mind off what she heard in the hallway, but instead they'd argued about it. _Oh well_, he thought. _The road to hell is paved with good intentions._ Shrugging to himself, he attempted to stop thinking of it, watching his wife ride her mare Maggie. She was an excellent equestrienne, and observing the grace with which she rode went a long way toward distracting Patrick from their argument of before.

Violet, however, seethed. Didn't anyone else care about how their family looked to others? About propriety and decorum and upholding the dignity of their name? She became more and more agitated as the minutes went by, and, all of a sudden, she relaxed her hold upon the reins so Maggie could gallop. She didn't look back to see if Patrick followed her; she needed to let out her frustrations. Leaning forward in the saddle, she focused her concentration upon remaining upright and guiding the horse around the edge of an empty field.

As Maggie galloped through the dead, brown grass, Violet felt her heart lighten. They approached a wide brook, and she encouraged the mare to jump it. As they soared over it, Violet let out a laugh, giving herself up finally to the freedom of riding once again. She couldn't imagine why she hadn't ridden in so many months. Forgetting everything else, she let Maggie decide where to take her, knowing the horse could find her way back from anywhere on the estate. Violet didn't want to make any decisions; she simply wanted to feel the cold wind against her face and the rush of blood through her veins.

Patrick, taken by surprise when Maggie and Violet took off, spurred his own horse to do the same. He knew his stallion, Randolph, could easily outstrip Maggie, but, for a while, he simply kept them within his sights. He suspected that Violet might be getting rid of pent up frustration. Again, he watched her, his heart leaping as they leapt over the brook and a peal of her laughter reached his ears. For a quarter of an hour he went on this way while they galloped wherever Maggie had a mind to go. Violet's hat hadn't been pinned securely enough for this kind of riding, and Patrick saw it fall to the ground. His wife either didn't notice or didn't care; and the same went for when her hair began to come loose from its bonds. Her tresses blew around, flying out like a long auburn streamer behind her.

She continued to laugh, and Patrick urged Randolph closer to her, until they rode next to one another. Her head tilted back, and her eyes shone. In those moments, she looked just like the young girl Patrick remembered, beautiful and carefree and full of life. An idea took hold of him, and he nudged his horse forward. Throwing a glance behind him, meeting Violet's eyes, Patrick and Randolph pulled ahead of them, and Maggie followed.

Within another quarter hour, Patrick slowed his horse, having reached their destination. Violet drew up beside him, and they had the horses walk for a while, catching their own breath too.

"Are you alright, Violet?" Glimpsing her face, rosy from cold and exertion, and her eyes sparkling with her delight, he knew she was far and away more than alright.

She nodded, panting still. "Marvelous, actually."

Patrick smiled widely at her. "Do you recognize where we are?"

Violet gazed around. They'd arrived at a secluded part of the estate, and a low stone wall encircled an overgrown pasture. A large wild cherry tree grew in the middle of the field, its branches bare. A marble bench, just big enough for two, sat beneath the tree. Violet gasped. "Of course I do. But, Patrick, we haven't been here in years! Why now?" She locked eyes with him as they brought their horses to a halt.

He shrugged, then reached over and touched her hand. "I suppose I wanted you to remember what we went through to be together."

Lowering her eyes, Violet took a deep breath. "I do remember."

Taking his hand away from hers, Patrick dismounted and led Randolph to a corner of the abandoned pasture to graze. Then he walked over and lifted his arms to help Violet down, leaving her for a moment to lead Maggie over to join Randolph. Taking Violet's hand, Patrick brought her to the bench and sat with her.

She smiled sweetly at him. "You proposed to me here. By this very bench."

Squeezing her hand, he remarked, "And you said 'no.'"

Violet took another deep breath. "It was a mistake." She looked down at their hands, wringing his in her own.

"You didn't seem to think so at the time."

She raised her eyes, fixing him with a serious expression. "It was a mistake," she repeated, more adamantly this time. "I wanted to protect you. You needed more than I could give."

With his other hand, Patrick caressed her cheek gently, wishing he'd taken his gloves off first. "I needed _you_."

Violet's gaze softened. "You needed a woman who could help the estate."

Patrick sighed heavily. "You have."

"Not monetarily," she murmured with a small shake of her head. "Miss Whitlock was the obvious choice."

"Not to me." He clutched her hand tighter and ran a thumb along her reddened cheek. "She had money. She didn't have my heart; it was yours. It's always been yours."

"And that didn't save the estate."

Patrick lifted her gloved hand to kiss it. "No. But marrying you saved me." He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, kissing her tenderly for a long moment before pulling away and looking her in the eye. "However, since I made that choice, I put our son in a difficult situation." As Violet began to bend her head down to look away, he slid his hand beneath her chin to keep her gaze upon him. "And – as we've been through so many times – if he's found happiness in a marriage that my own actions forced him into, then I'm grateful. And you should be too, Violet. It could have been so different for him."

Instead of trying to look away, Violet closed her eyes. "I know," she whispered. Sighing, she fluttered her lashes open again. "I do know that, Patrick," she reiterated for emphasis. "It's hard for me, though. I wanted so much for him – for Rosamund – for our family…."

He nodded. "And I know that, darling."

She took another deep breath. "I promised I would try to understand, and I meant it. But it isn't easy."

"I know that too." Patrick stared at her for a while, her hair tumbling over her shoulders, eyes focused upon his, a soft smile gracing her lips now. As they sat still, he realized that their breath was visible upon the air, the afternoon having grown chillier. "Are you cold, Violet?" he asked, grazing a finger back and forth where it rested under her chin.

"Perhaps a little," she replied.

"Well, then you must let me warm you." Taking his hand from hers, he slipped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her closer to himself. Their faces were almost touching as he smiled at her.

Placing her hands upon his chest, she grinned back at him. "Patrick, you're too ridiculous sometimes."

"Really?" His brows lifted. "Is this ridiculous?" He kissed the sensitive area below her ear, relishing the soft gasp this provoked. "Or this?" Patrick twined his gloved fingers into her hair and brushed his lips over her jaw. He glanced up and smirked to see that she'd closed her eyes. He leaned back from her and tried to wipe the grin from his mouth before she opened her eyes again, blinking at him.

"Why did you stop?" she breathed.

"Well, I wouldn't want to be ridiculous." He averted his eyes. "Furthermore, it's the middle of the day. It won't do to engage in such shenanigans now."

"Patrick!" Violet swatted him on the chest. "That's unfair."

Drawing his brows together, he looked at her. "How is that unfair? You wouldn't want to hold ourselves to a lesser standard than you would Robert and Cora would you? We _are_ the Earl and Countess of Grantham. In fact, I probably shouldn't be so close to you." He began loosen his hold upon her.

She gaped at him as he slid to the far end of the bench and crossed his arms. He looked so dapper in his riding attire, even though he'd taken off his hat earlier. His breeches and boots showed off the muscles of his legs, and the cut of the coat was impeccable. "But, Patrick," Violet ventured, fluttering her eyelashes at him, "I'm still cold."

It was a lie, of course.

"Hmmm," he mused. "Then I suppose we should be getting back." Patrick stood and stepped toward their steeds.

Violet glanced around them, at the place her husband had proposed, at the cherry tree and the stone wall, at him, and recalled their argument, their conversation, the ride, his sweet words. They couldn't leave. Not yet.

Jumping up, Violet put herself in his path, stopping him. "No. Please."

Patrick studied her expression: the glint in her eyes, the slight parting of her lips, and the heightened color of her cheeks. Her silken locks had fallen over her shoulders, draping prettily over the front of her bodice where her chest heaved with emotion and determination. It took all he had not to wrap his arms around her and kiss her thoroughly.

"We could sit and talk, if you like, Violet." He crossed his arms again.

Violet nodded. "Yes, let's talk." She slipped her hand into his and drew him back to the bench. "It's alright if we sit close to one another, isn't it?" she asked coyly.

"Yes, well, I think that would be alright." Patrick struggled to keep his composure.

"And, might I continue holding your hand?"

He knew she was teasing him. He didn't care. "I don't see anything wrong in that."

Violet sat there silently for a moment, coiling a lock of her hair around her fingers and glancing back and forth between their hands and his face. She couldn't quite explain the giddiness she felt then. Perhaps it could be explicated by the combination of his nearness, the rush from riding, his earlier kisses, and the way he subsequently denied them to her. Whatever it was, it rendered her both breathless and aching for his arms around her again.

Finally, she could take it no longer. She turned and planted her lips upon his, sliding a hand behind his head.

Patrick, satisfied that he'd made his point, embraced her and tugged his gloves off behind her back. Thrusting his hands into her hair, he gently tilted her head back to trail his lips along her throat. The high collar of her riding habit presented a challenge – a challenge he was more than willing to meet. Despite the obstacles presented to him by her attire, he had every intention of finding ways to bring her pleasure. As she sighed and ran her hands over his chest, his back, his arms, his hair, he knew he had done just that.

Soon, he'd pulled her onto his lap, and he wondered if Violet even realized it. She'd placed her hands on either side of his face and was kissing him deeply, hungrily. Patrick grew bold and slowly worked her skirts up high enough for him slip his hand beneath them. Starting where he'd caressed her before, back at the house, he brushed his hand over her calf and then her knee. As he moved up to her lower thigh through her drawers and stockings, Violet seemed to become aware of what he was doing.

"Patrick," she whispered against his cheek. "Not here."

"Yes, I know," he whispered back, beginning to make his way back down her leg as he kissed her again. Once he'd smoothed her skirts over her legs, he wrapped both arms around her waist and grinned at her. "We'll simply have to hold that thought until we're in a more appropriate milieu."

Violet smiled widely. "Something to look forward to."

"Most certainly." Capturing her lips between his one last time, he then stood with her, holding her hand. "I wish you could have your hair down this way always. I like it." He ran his fingers through it, then pushed it off her shoulders, grinning.

"Only young girls leave their hair down, Patrick." Violet blushed.

He bent his head close to her ear. "You're still young to me, darling. Although I'm happy you're not a girl anymore." Patrick drew back in time to see her redden even more.

"Let's finish our ride," she said softly. "And I think we should do this more often."

"What? Exchange kisses in removed parts of the estate?" He chuckled as he led her to Maggie and Randolph.

Violet rolled her eyes, but she smiled as well. "You know that's not what I meant. Although…."

Patrick stopped and looked at her, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "What an interesting and exciting prospect, my dear Violet."

Her laugh rang out over the deserted pasture. "We can discuss that later. Along with other things." She cast a particular look his way.

"You really have to stop that, Violet. Or else we'll be competing with our son and his wife for the title of most scandalous Crawleys." He winked at her cheekily as they reached the horses.

"Patrick, you're tempting me to call you ridiculous again," she said, but she smirked as she did so.

Chuckling, Patrick fell silent, pressing a soft kiss to his wife's cheek before bending down and lacing his fingers together, creating a step for her so she could mount Maggie once more. When she had gotten settled in the saddle, Patrick smiled at her, sneaking his hand up her leg again. Violet merely giggled a bit and shook her head, muttering "ridiculous" under her breath, secretly pleased.

Once Patrick had mounted his stallion, Violet urged Maggie into a trot and then let her out into a gallop, her blood warm from her husband's touch and from the thrill of the afternoon's events. Randolph and Patrick came up beside them, and Violet grinned, spurring Maggie to go faster. Violet and Patrick chased one another around the estate for at least an hour, their laughter rising on the cold air and following behind them.

* * *

After a warm bath, Violet felt much better. Of course, she couldn't stop smiling, and Kendrick appeared suspicious of this. _Well,_ Violet thought, _let her be. There is nothing wrong with enjoying my own husband's attentions – in whatever form they appear._

She went down to tea having selected one of Patrick's favorite dresses. "Cora, are you feeling better?" she asked her daughter-in-law when she'd arrived downstairs. She poured her a cup of tea and handed it to her.

"Yes, Violet," she answered, the name trembling upon her tongue as if it might come back and bite her. She took the teacup and blushed, looking down at the carpet.

Ignoring the blush, Violet proffered a plate of biscuits. "That's good."

Cora took a biscuit and smiled genuinely at her mother-in-law before exchanging a happy glance with Robert, who grinned and sipped his own tea.

Catching Patrick's eye, Violet grinned as he nodded at her. She endeavored to contain her own blush, pouring another cup for Rosamund when she entered. Yet, as tea went on, she found it more and more difficult to keep her blushes to herself and her glances from her husband. Her mind kept revisiting their tryst under the cherry tree and their subsequent chase. Her attention wandered from any conversation, settling irrevocably upon Patrick and his surreptitious winks.

Whereas at dinner the night before Violet had been the one to keep calm all evening, now it was Patrick communicating subtle hints of what might be later. Violet had no idea how she could wait until then – except that she had to.

Instead of tea, Patrick had Scotch as usual. As he got to the bottom of his glass, Violet glided across the room. "Might I freshen that for you, Patrick?" she asked in a low voice.

Smirking, he handed her the glass. "There's no Scotch in here, Violet."

"Then I'll have to go into the library, won't I?"

The merest hint of a wink from her nearly undid him, as calm as he'd been thus far.

After he watched her sashay from the drawing room, he cleared his throat and stood. "I don't think your mother knows where I keep the good Scotch," he announced, quickly leaving the room before any of the children could answer. Shutting the library door silently, he crept up behind Violet and slid his arms around her, resting his chin upon her shoulder and nearly startling her into dropping his glass.

"Patrick, what's gotten into you?" she queried even as she tilted her head to one side when he began feathering soft kisses over her neck.

"I honestly don't know, my dear," he murmured, continuing his attentions. Her soft sighs and the way she pressed herself back against him only spurred him on.

Eventually, Violet turned her face toward him. "They'll miss us if we don't get back soon."

Heaving a disappointed sigh, Patrick hung his head and placed one more kiss upon her shoulder. "You're right, Violet. We'll have to resume this later." Squeezing her waist again, he breathed, "Oh, how I look forward to it."

Carefully pouring his drink, she handed him his glass as she turned in his arms. "I know, Patrick. And so do I." She kissed him lightly.

When she stepped away from him, Patrick took a sip of his drink. "Come along, then. It won't do to stay here. I'll be sorely tempted to do something completely impudent and inappropriate."

"Patrick Crawley! The very idea!" she exclaimed. Although, all through the rest of tea, once they'd returned to the others, her imagination ran riot, conjuring up that very idea. Cora even asked her if she might be feverish, her color was so high.

Violet assured her daughter-in-law that she was just fine. When she caught her husband's eye across the drawing room, she grinned, realizing that she was far more than just fine.

* * *

Patrick made it through dinner with far more composure that he'd anticipated. He chuckled to himself, however, as his valet dressed him for bed. Violet had been the one acting out of the ordinary. During the meal itself, she'd seemed calm enough, a number of sideways glances and accompanying blushes the only signs that she thought of anything other than the unusually sedate dinner conversation.

When Rosamund suggested cards, Violet reluctantly agreed, since it was something she generally enjoyed. She and Rosamund partnered against Cora and Robert, but she had trouble concentrating.

"Mama? What is wrong with you?" Rosamund finally blurted out, her brows furrowed in exasperation as they lost a fifth hand to Robert and Cora. "You never play this badly!"

"Nothing is wrong with me, Rosamund. I haven't been dealt good hands," she snapped, equivocating. The truth was that Patrick kept distracting her. If he wasn't leering at her over his Scotch glass, he would walk up behind her, ostensibly to study her hand, and run his fingers surreptitiously over her back, lingering over her partially bare shoulders. Violet could hardly see the cards in front of her when he did this, much less play her hand in the expert fashion her daughter had come to expect of her.

In fact, after losing a sixth game, Violet became so flustered that she excused herself from the card table, ignoring the flabbergasted stares of the children.

Patrick sidled up beside her. "Would you like a sherry, Violet dear?" His hand brushed over hers briefly.

She nodded, feeling rather breathless. Her hand stole to her throat as she watched him leave the drawing room for the library. When he turned at the door to wink at her, she colored. She knew she needed to sit again. As she took a seat on the settee, she went over the events of the afternoon and wondered if the room was actually as warm as she thought it was.

Sherry in one hand, a freshened Scotch in the other, Patrick came back and handed his wife her drink as he sat next to her on the settee. He studied her face as she nursed her sherry, carefully avoiding his gaze. Turning slightly to be sure the children were occupied with their own conversation, he leaned closer. "Violet," he breathed in her ear.

He loved how she closed her eyes at this, a smile playing at her lips. "Patrick," she said softly, her eyes still firmly shut. "You're making it well neigh impossible for me to maintain my composure."

"Good." Patrick downed the last of his Scotch as she tilted her face toward him. Seeing how flushed her cheeks were, he lifted a hand to her forehead, pressing the back of it there. "Are you sure you aren't feeling a trifle feverish, darling? Perhaps you should retire," he said in a louder voice.

"Well," she conceded, "I am a little warm." Violet handed her husband the rest of her sherry. "Don't be long," she mouthed to him, standing with him and murmuring goodnights to the others while sweeping out of the room, throwing a coy glance at Patrick before disappearing through the door.

He grinned and hastened to deposit the glasses upon a side table. Pressing kisses to Rosamund and Cora's cheeks and wringing his son's hand, he, too, said goodnight and bounded up the stairs, making it to his room before his valet.

Patrick dislodged several buttons on his waistcoat and nearly tore his cuffs trying to get his links out before his valet arrived. Without comment, the man took over, evidently recognizing that his master was in haste, and made short work of the change from dinner dress to night shirt.

Once the servant had disappeared, Patrick rapped his knuckles against the door dividing their apartments, hoping Kendrick had already departed.

Violet's sudden appearance at the door startled him, especially when she wound her arms around his neck, kissing him earnestly and pulling him into her room. "Patrick," she sighed against his lips.

If he hadn't already been completely turned on, this would have done the trick. "Heavens, Violet, I haven't even closed the door yet." This didn't stop him from lifting the hem of her night dress to skim his hands over her waist and then up to cup a breast.

"What have you done to me, Patrick?" she whispered, pulling away enough to look him in the eye.

"I don't know, but you've rendered me incapable of thinking of anything but you." He slid his hands up and down her back beneath her night dress.

"I hope at least for the next several hours you won't think of anything but me. I know I won't be thinking of anything but you." She smiled softly at him. "Patrick, close the door. I finally have you all to myself, and I don't want to waste one moment."

Fumbling behind him, Patrick shut the door between their rooms before twitching her night dress over her head and weaving his fingers in her hair. Violet had left it down for him, and its sweet fragrance surrounded them.

"You remembered," he whispered, leading her to the bed and leaning her back upon it tenderly.

Violet blushed. "You said you liked it down. Kendrick gave me such a strange look, but I don't care. I wanted to please you."

Patrick brushed the stray locks away from her face. "You do please me." He bent his head and murmured in her ear. "Now, let me please you. As I've wanted to all afternoon and evening…." Attaching his lips to her neck, he reveled in how her head fell back and her breath caught in her throat.

"Yes," Violet breathed. "Darling…."

She rarely ever uttered any sort of endearment when addressing him. So encouraged, Patrick drew the sheet over them, his head full of plans to keep her whispering endearments and his heart full of every moment they'd shared – today and every day.


End file.
